The Pawn, Risen
by NickeltheRed
Summary: A theory of what the stronger, darker side of an older Elizabth may think. To be by his side forever, would she let herself be a mere pawn, even when she knows better? Implied Ciel/Elizabeth.


**To all Yaoi-fans: if you don't like this pairing, simply don't read this. I respect your interests, as I don't care for Yaoi whatsoever personally, so please do the same. Thanks.**

**Otherwise, we've all learned in the latest manga chapters that Lizzie isn't who she seemed to be all this time. It makes me wonder if she'd still give up anything just to be to Ciel's side if he would continue to treat her like a "pawn," and not someone with more value. I merely thought Lizzie deserves a bit more credit. **

**The story takes place in the short future (if Ciel does actually does last that long.)**

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><p>Sixteen-year-old Elizabeth "Lizzie" Middleford, currently socializing within a circle of other girls her age, looked over at her now more adult and taller fiancé across the ballroom. As she expected, he stood motionless on the side, arms folded, viewing the collection of guests with only little interest. (She knew well enough by now that he would not move about and mingle unless she strung him along or urged him to do so.) Also as usual, his butler in black loomed over him from behind, wearing a somewhat of a haughty smirk, personally finding something about the carefree merrymaking amusing.<p>

Although Elizabeth continued to watch Ciel in the most subtle fashion as she could manage while he stood there proudly, keeping to himself, as if he were some sort of King. How odd, yet how so fitting, she noted, noticing how straight his stance could be—flawlessly straight and tall as a King chess piece. He was the King upon this dark and light checker-pattered dance floor, and they were all his subjects, his pieces to move at his will.

Though suddenly a hot flare erupted in the pit of Lizzie's stomach, and she received a feeling that she scarcely allowed herself to acknowledge most days. It caused her jaw to clench, and it had made her hand automatically tighten around her open fan.

Elizabeth was perfectly aware that she put up a different front while associating with her party friends, and also with Ciel. She regularly chose to wear the _"cute mask." _She was the endearing, cheerful girl, called "Lizzie," who cared about pretty dresses, twirling colored parasols, and matching buckled shoes.

The only ones who had always known her true person were her parents and her dear brother, Edward. They knew the girl she rightfully was. Very true, Elizabeth would not forget the night onboard that sinking ship. She had finally revealed her family's duty to her fiancé. That she was born and trained as a descendent of the Knights of England. However after the night, she continued to wear that _"cute mask,"_ of hers for Ciel's sake. Always for his sake. Her desire to give him something good and untainted to cling to in his unfortunate life did not change, even following her fierce sword-round against those living dead creatures.

But—_but _no matter how much she loved the legendary Earl Phantomhive—or no matter how much more she'd grow to love him as her future husband, something yet reflected in her eyes when a board scowl formed on his face in the distance then.

"_Please…Ciel…do not make yourself lose me too…." _This private plea wasn't so much of a yearning to be sheltered by Ciel, as it was really a_ threat_.

Yes, his most beloved family members left Ciel's side by the lack of choice of control. Though she, if completely necessary, would leave him by full choice and control.

_"Elizabeth, you must to learn fencing to honor our family crest,"_ her mother had once said.

_"Elizabeth, be on your best behavior. You are of the Nobel Class_,_"_ her father had explained.

_"Elizabeth, a man prefers a girl to be naïve and innocent. You must stay cute in his eyes_,_"_ Aunt Ann had told her.

She had lived the majority of her life altering her temperament and personality to please everyone else around her. She was patient for the utmost part. She did not mind it that much, but definitely she wouldn't let herself be _used_. She certainty allowed her maids to clothe her in shining jewels and beautiful gowns as a child, but once she became of age, she strictly insisted on bathing and dressing in private. She _wouldn't_ be a doll to play with any longer. She let herself to repress her Knightly skills to appear lovable and faultless to the public eye, but she _wouldn't_ be a rug to walk over.

She always had a mind of her own, even though she was advised against of having it. During all the types of lessons she was forced to take, and when she was encouraged to act with acceptable behavior, Elizabeth bit her tongue as any Nobel Lady should, and worked through it. Although on occasion, in the end she would abruptly snap if she judged things had gone too far. She couldn't help herself in the end, from time to time if her unique stubbornness got the better of her. She had never shared the fact that she would often have dreams, in which she saw out of a circus tiger's eyes. She would be willing to jump the burning rings, and leap over the barrels. But once she was whipped for too long, she would counter with a pounce, her fangs bared, her claws flexed.

Her deep green eyes shimmered as the thoughts flooded across her mind. _"I may be told things…I may be encouraged to act in some ways, but there's a difference. I shall not be used."_

Elizabeth's rather calm gaze had not yet wavered from Ciel's position in the room. A King, Ciel might seem to be, but_ she_ was _not_ one of his pawns. And if he should treat her like such in their marriage, in the end, no matter how much she loved His Dark Highness, she would show him otherwise. She would become stubborn once more. She would essentially and truly, leave his side if she had to, in order to preserve what made her—Elizabeth Middleford. She would permit herself to be highly loved, even prized, but she would not be _owned_. She would not be moved so freely by his hand, she would not lose her own mind. In the end, if she truly needed to, she would be the pawn to remove herself from the selected square, she would be the pawn to refuse and revolt against the King's wishes.

If needed, she would be the pawn to draw her blades.

She would indeed be—Elizabeth Middleford, yet—the pawn, risen.


End file.
